You are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!

If you have any problems with the registration process or your account login, please contact contact us or post in the registration help forum for unregistered users.

If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.

Rumi

Scheherazade, subterranean, bongitybongbong, and I shared an interesting discussion regarding one of my favorite poets, Rumi, and I thought to bring him to this part of the forum for everyone elses' benefits. Here are a few of his works we shared in the quote forum; share some of your favorites, if you have any.

There is a way between voice and presence
where information flows.

In disciplined silence it opens.
With wandering talk it closes.

---

"There is no angel so sublime, He wispered,
Who can be granted for one moment
What is granted you forever.
And I hung my head, astounded.

My Heart, that dervish vagabond,
Poured me the wine of oblivion.
I stagger to the House of Wine
Dancing, dancing, dragging this old cloak.

How can you ever hope to know the Beloved
Without becoming in every cell the Lover?
And when you are the Lover at last, you don't care.
Whatever you know or don't - only Love is real.

If one drop of Divine Drunkenness fell
On the intellects of everyone in the world,
The world and its beings, free will, and obedience -
All, all, would vanish in a moment.

The sail of the ship of man's being is belief.
When there is a sail, the wind can carry him
To place after place of power and wonder.
No sail, all words are winds.

You say you have seen Him, but your eyes are two stones.
You say you have known Him, but nothing in you trembles.
You still say "I" when you speak of surviving His glory:
No one who has seen It has ever survived.

The real work of religion is permanent astonishment.
By that I don't mean in astonishment turning your back on Him -
I mean - blazing in blind ecstacy, drowned in God and drunk on Love.

Choose the company of those withdrawn in love.
Listen to those who open the path to you; listen, and don't say a word."

---

O you who've gone on pilgrimage -
where are you, where, oh where?
Here, here is the Beloved!
Oh come now, come, oh come!
Your friend, he is your neighbor,
he is next to your wall -
You, erring in the desert -
what air of love is this?
If you'd see the Beloved's
form without any form -
You are the house, the master,
You are the Kaaba, you! . . .
Where is a bunch of roses,
if you would be this garden?
Where, one soul's pearly essence
when you're the Sea of God?
That's true - and yet your troubles
may turn to treasures rich -
How sad that you yourself veil
the treasure that is yours!

---

Though I cannot narrow my favorite Rumi poem to one, a work of his that I think highly of, and brings me to tears, goes thus, titled "No Room For Form:"

On the night when youc ross the street
from your shop and your house
to the cemetery,

you'll hear me hailing you from inside
the open grave, and you'll realize
how we've always been together.

I am the clear consciousness-core
of your being, teh same in
ecstasy as in self-hating fatigue.

That night, when youe scape the fear of snakebite
and all irritation with the ants, you'll hear
my familiar voice, see the candle being lit,
smell the incense, the surprise meal fixed
by the lover inside all your other lovers.

This heart-tumult is my signal
to you igniting in the tomb.

So don't fuss with the shroud
and the graveyard road dust.

Those get ripped open and washed away
in the music of our finally meeting.

And don't look for me in a human shape.
I am inside your looking. No room
for form with love this strong.

Beat the drum and let the poets speak.
This is a day of purification for those who
are already mature and initiated into what love is.

No need to wait until we die!
There's more to want here than money
and being famous and bites of roasted meat.

Now, what shall we call this new sort of gazing-house
that has opened in our town where people sit
quietly and pour out their glancing
like light, like answering?

1. Wow you bothered to write out my name.That gives you a banana.(very good)

2. My favorite poem is an excerpt from I am Wind, You are Fire:

O you who've gone on pilgrimage -
where are you, where, oh where?
Here, here is the Beloved!
Oh come now, come, oh come!
Your friend, he is your neighbor,
he is next to your wall -
You, erring in the desert -
what air of love is this?
If you'd see the Beloved's
form without any form -
You are the house, the master,
You are the Kaaba, you! . . .
Where is a bunch of roses,
if you would be this garden?
Where, one soul's pearly essence
when you're the Sea of God?
That's true - and yet your troubles
may turn to treasures rich -
How sad that you yourself veil
the treasure that is yours!

3.The last one that you put down is respected by me as well, it originally got me into reading his poetry.

These are some nice translations. Can you folks tell me who did them? Coleman Barks is probably Rumi's best current translator in America. Anybody know who else is doing good things with this material?

Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say,
I make you feel dizzy.
Of a little headache then,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your antelope.
Of seeing a lion here and there
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say, I am your moon-faced beauty.
Of the cycles of the moon and
passing of the years,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your source of passion,
I excite you.
Of playing into the Devils hand,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Look at yourself,
what you have become.
You are now a field of sugar canes,
why show that sour face to me?
You have tamed the
winged horse of Love.
Of a death of a donkey,
why do you worry?
You say that I keep you warm inside.
Then why this cold sigh?
You have gone to the roof of heavens.
Of this world of dust, why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Since you met me,
you have become a master singer,
and are now a skilled wrangler,
you can untangle any knot.
Of life's little leash
why do you worry?
Your arms are heavy
with treasures of all kinds.
About poverty,
why do you worry?
You are Joseph,
beautiful, strong,
steadfast in your belief,
all of Egypt has become drunk
because of you.
Of those who are blind to your beauty,
and deaf to your songs,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say that your housemate is the
Heart of Love,
she is your best friend.
You say that you are the heat of
the oven of every Lover.
You say that you are the servant of
Ali's magical sword, Zolfaghar.
Of any little dagger
why do you still worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
You are the security,
the shelter of the spirit of Lovers.
Oh the sultan of sultans,
of any other king,
why do you worry?
Be silent, like a fish,
and go into that pleasant sea.
You are in deep waters now,
of life's blazing fire.
Why do you worry?

"there are people in the world so hungry that God can not appear to them except in the form of bread"

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awarenes comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

I lie in bed and read interior design magazines. (What has that to do with Rumi, you ask, but wait I´ll get to that). There are beautiful pictures of an artists home. Evrything is grey, meditative. A cat sleeps on a couch. The table is worn, and old and the surface reflects the light. There is a close up of a pot with a Rumi qoute on it. Something about going deeper into silence.

There is something in me that does not like the silence.
I want to scream like Lorca – I think it was Lorca – “my soul celebrate in orange”, I want to “rage against the dying of the light” like Dylan Thomas, I want Frost and his mischief. I do not want this tranquility. I want life and colour. I want anger and desire. I can´t bear this peace. It gnaws at me and makes me irritated. Is it just me?

I´m going to read some more poetry by Rumi and try to make sense of this.

"Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go" Blake

Come, come, whoever you are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.

I think it beautifully sums up Rumi's philosophies and find it very inspirational.

~ "It is not that I am mad; it is only that my head is different from yours.”~

Mevlana also integrated a dualist approach in his mind: In approaching issues pertaining to daily life he is a rationalist, but in approaching spiritual and mystical matters he recognizes only the mastery of the heart and emotions. According to him, the only way to approach absolute being is through love; and God's love is everywhere, permeating everything. If one were to love another being in the name of God, one would find a pathway leading to the absolute. According to him everything in the universe, every being, even matter itself - all are but manifestations of God and exist in God and are united in the Absolute Being. Thus Mevlana views all existence as a united whole. In a sense, one could call his vision that of Unity Consciousness. This vision impelled Mevlana to transcend all differences and prejudices, and formed the basis of his immense tolerance and of his real and deep humanism. With these characteristics, Mevlana and his thought transcended the boundaries of his time and thus he and his writings are still relevant and fresh in this day and age, some 700 years after.

Come, come, whoever you are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.

***

Not Christian or Jew or Muslim,
not Hindu, Buddhist, Sufi or Zen.
Not any religion, or cultural system.
I am not from the East or the West,
nor out of the ocean or up
from the ground, not natural or ethereal,
not composed of elements at all.
I do not exist, am not an entity in this world
or the next,
did not descend from Adam and Eve
or any origin story.
My place is placeless, a trace of the traceless.
Neither body nor soul.
I belong to the beloved
have seen the two worlds as one
and that one call to and know,
First, last, outer, inner, only that
breath breathing human

Yet another recent favorite of the poet who never grows old (that Psyche sent me) . . .

Don't go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.

I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go
up on the roof by yourself at night.

There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street
without you. I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.